


Is There Anyone Listening?

by unwindmyself



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Episode Tag, F/F, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Gen, Spoilers, girls protecting girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After accidentally dimension-hopping, Jemma plays the hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the _SHIELD_ s2 finale and thwarted spoilers for _Game of Thrones_ ' s5e06.
> 
> I'm sure I was not the only angry one about what befell Sansa tonight, and I was rather miffed about what befell Jemma last Tuesday night, so of course the solution was to use one of them to save the other. The best way to describe this is "impulse fic."

“This doesn’t make sense,” Jemma mumbles under her breath.  She’s been wandering these strange halls at least ten minutes, ducking around corners when she hears footsteps and trying to deduce where in the hell she’s wound up.  Last she remembers, she was being sucked up in a rush of black liquid, which shouldn’t for any reason have led to suddenly appearing in what seems to most closely resemble one of the old great houses she’d get dragged to on primary school trips, but there you have it.

(The idea of time travel, dimensional travel, is thrilling, but in the moment it’s rather more terrifying.  She’s having to will herself to keep her wits about her.)

She turns another corner and before she can prevent it, she makes eye contact with a man standing in the doorway of a room: from the way he’s dressed, her time travel theory seems all the more plausible, and from the fear in his eyes, she’s faced with the reality that either she looks more a fright than she thought or something horrible is going on.

She’s not the girl she was even a year ago.  She’s the Jemma Simmons who does outlandishly stupid things in the name of helping others, or at least attempting to do.  And it may be that this is all just a dream, so what has she got to lose?

Warily, she walks down the hall, searching for something she might be able to use as a weapon if it comes to that.  She holds a finger up to her lips when the man at the door starts to acknowledge her, and silently she bids him exit the scene before she observes what may have been the cause for his horror: another man, perhaps of an age with him, speaking to a teenage girl about removing her clothes.

Jemma doesn’t think.  She grabs a poker from the hearth at one side of the room and, trying to call up mental images she’s got of the others in combat (Melinda with the berserker staff, Bobbi with her batons) she swings it into the man’s head.  There may not be a second chance here, and so she swings to kill, one of the poker’s points lodging into the man’s temple half a second before he falls forward onto the bed and the girl, a willowy redhead, screams.

“We should run,” Jemma says, holding her hand out to the girl and waiting for her to accept before beginning to do just that.

It’s not long before the girl starts to give directions, good ones that get them outside in no time and without running into anyone else; she steers them in the direction of the woods, and it’s not until they’ve stopped to catch their breath under a tall white-bark tree that she asks, “Who _are_ you?  How did you know to come?  I didn’t light a candle in the tower.”  She really seems to look at Jemma for the first time for adding, “And why are you dressed so strangely?”

“My name is Jemma Simmons,” she says.  “I didn’t know to come, I was brought here.  I don’t even know where here is.  And…”  She pauses, trying to recall how situations like this have been handled on the Lady Sif’s visits from Asgard.  “This is normal, where I come from.”  It’s certainly more practical than the girl’s gown, a full-skirted white number that looks a cross between a Civil War reenactment costume and something a holiday Barbie might wear, but she’s not so cruel as to say that, nor does she expect her references would be understood.

“I don’t understand,” the girl says, and Jemma notices the tears in her eyes.  “Brought by whom?  From where?”

Jemma falters.  It occurs to her that she’s speaking to a trauma victim, likely one who’s been through much more than what was stopped tonight, and the last thing to want to do is upset her further.  “I’m not sure,” she finally says, “and I come from what I think is a different world than this one altogether.  Have you ever heard of wormholes?”

The girl looks at her blankly.

“Time travel?  Dimensional portals?”

“What are you talking about?” the girl asks, sounding almost defiant.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Jemma says, because it’s not as if she has any definitive answers.  “Could I ask your name?”

“Alay - no,” the girl says with a shake of her head.  “Sansa Stark, last true child of Eddard Stark living.  This - Winterfell - is my home.”

“Who was the man?” Jemma asks quietly.

“Ramsay Bolton,” Sansa says with disgust.  “Ramsay Snow.  Bastard-born son of Roose Bolton, who stabbed my brother in the heart and got the North for it.”  She’s having a difficult time saying these things, but she understands, apparently, that Jemma needs the extra background.

“Had he hurt you before?  Ramsay?”

“We were wedded just this night,” Sansa mutters.  “And he -”  Suddenly terror crosses her face.  “You’ve got to take me with you.  They’ll think I was the one to kill him.  They’ll flay me alive.”

Jemma’s fairly sure that’s not an exaggeration, but she still has to point out, “I’m not even sure that I can get back home, let alone bring someone, and I expect my world would be a shock.”

“I don’t care,” Sansa presses.  “I can’t stay here.  I have no one.”  She takes one of Jemma’s hands.  “I promise, I’ll be very good, just let me come with you.”

“All right,” Jemma says.  “I’ll do what I can.”

 

* * *

 

They get back to the base somehow, some unexplainable somehow: Sansa is clutching at Jemma’s arm, Jemma is looking as war-torn as any of them ever have, and they’re met with questions and confused stares and more questions still.

“In the morning,” Jemma declares, pushing past everyone and sighing.  “Right now, Sansa needs proper clothes and something to eat.”

“I’ll ask Bob to lend her something,” murmurs Lance, hurrying off to do.

“There are cookies in the kitchen,” suggests Mack, nodding in the right direction.

“She can use my bed,” offers Skye, using a voice laced with sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” mouths Fitz, looking Jemma in the eye.

“You’re safe now, Sansa,” says Coulson.  “We’ll make sure of it.”

Sansa looks at Jemma, obviously overwhelmed yet relieved.  “Thank you,” she says as Jemma steers her toward the common area.  “I’ll repay your kindness somehow, I swear it.”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Jemma murmurs.  She’s not yet sure exactly where she went or how, but if she was able to help Sansa, she thinks it might have been right where she was needed in that moment, and now she’s right back where she needs to be in this one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is important too and now it's a series. Oops.
> 
> Thwarted spoilers for _Game of Thrones_ ' s5e09.

“You know you don’t have to go back to that thing if you don’t want to,” Skye says as they’re clearing the table after breakfast. “Nobody’s gonna blame you.”

Jemma frowns at her empty teacup, then at Sansa – currently staring with some of her still-present wonderment as she turns the faucet on to rinse her plate off – and then at Skye. “The funny thing is, I… I do,” she says softly. “Have to. It’s…”

“Do not say it’s calling to you,” Skye half-threatens, though she’s trying to smile. “We got lucky, our first trip down the rabbit hole of weird alien tech calling to us turned out okay. I’m not risking losing you because our luck runs out this time.”

“No, but I just… I have a feeling,” Jemma mumbles. “I’m supposed to go and see if it wants to take me again, I think. I’ll take weapons this time, I promise. I’ll be careful. I just – what if I can help someone else, like I helped…”

Sansa smiles gratefully. She’s been spending the week since she got here wearing Bobbi’s clothes and learning about the things like running water and cell phones and airplanes that she should know in order to be able to pass off as Tony Stark’s long-lost illegitimate niece from Britain (they worked the cover up her second day and by her third Skye had “hacked the internet,” as she explained with a cheeky grin, so that one Sansa Catelyn Stark would be officially in the system). “I’m grateful,” she says, like she has every last time.

“It wouldn’t have been right to do anything else,” Jemma says, like she has every last time. (She’s starting to understand how Bobbi must have felt after _her_ daring rescue.)

 

* * *

 

So Jemma straps a gun to her thigh and an icer to her hip, hides a phone in her pocket just in case she goes somewhere there’s reception, and steps back into the room with the rock. It’s not _calling to her_ like Skye was afraid of, but she has an instinct, and this feels like the right thing to do, just unlocking the case and waiting. She doesn’t tell anyone but Skye and Sansa that she’s going, even, she just does it.

It’s less jarring this time, but she’s wishing she’d decided to wear something more than her light jacket when she reaches her mystery destination and immediately finds herself all but covered in snow. It could be Sansa’s same universe from the old way the few men she sees walking around are dressed, but the only structures in sight are rows upon rows of tents, so she can’t judge from that.

She listens a moment for why she might have been brought here, and what she hears is four men, soldiers by the look of them, talking about needing to get the king’s daughter and bring her to the red witch and –

Well, she’s fairly sure they aren’t referring to someone as at least potentially good as the Avengers’ new recruit Wanda.

They’re headed toward a tent nearer to her than them, motioning to it obviously, so Jemma steals inside and finds – well, she must be the king’s daughter, but Jemma was expecting a girl closer to her own age, not a slight girl between the ages of ten and thirteen, who immediately looks up from the tome she’s reading, revealing scars all down the left side of her face, and exclaims, in an accent just as familiar as Sansa’s, “Who are you?”

Jemma doesn’t waste time this time, she just shakes her head. “Jemma, and I’m not sure what’s going on, but I think you need to come with me.”

“Did my father send you?” she asks plaintively.

“No,” she murmurs. “I really do think it’s for the better that you come with me. Some of the men outside were saying they needed to take you to a… witch?” She furrows her brow, uncertain how literally that was meant.

The girl frowns. “Why would…” A look of horror crosses her face, and she stares at the wooden deer in her hand for a moment before rising and approaching decisively. “I think I know. Davos was – he was sent away to keep me from…”

Footsteps sound outside the tent and Jemma frowns, holding her hand out to the girl. “Tell me once we’ve run,” she says, and the moment small fingers twine with hers she breaks into a run.

They run as fast as they can manage (not particularly fast, as the girl doesn’t seem to be much for physical endurance) until they’ve lost sight of the camp, and Jemma softly asks, “What’s your name?”

“Shireen of the house Baratheon, princess of Dragonstone,” she says, though it comes out sounding very small and sad. “I have a king’s blood running through my veins, and that is the most powerful thing of all. The lady Melisandre says. She sacrifices –”

“Good god,” Jemma exclaims. “I understand.” And with that, they’re pulled back in the way of her world.

 

* * *

 

“Where _are_ we?” Shireen asks, staring around the room once they’ve exited the glass case and Jemma locks it up again.

“This is my home,” Jemma says softly. “I work for an organization that helps people, people in strange situations, and we take care of people when they can’t do themselves.”

“Like the Night’s Watch,” Shireen provides, clearly thinking herself helpful given the grin on her face.

“Are they the men in your – your father’s encampment?” Jemma asks.

“No, they guard the Wall, keeping White Walkers away from the kingdoms,” Shireen chirps, following Jemma down the hall and to the kitchen where Skye and Sansa sit, Skye helping Sansa learn to use Instagram. Or anyway, that’s what she’s doing until she hears Shireen’s voice.

“The Wall?” Sansa asks softly, regarding Shireen. “Are you…”

“You know the Wall?” Shireen asks in kind.

“You’re from Westeros,” Sansa whispers. “And you’ve…” She frowns, clearly not wanting to actually say _scars_ out loud. “You’re Shireen Baratheon.”

“Shireen,” she agrees. “I’m not sure I’d like to be a Baratheon anymore. It’s more a curse than a blessing.”

Skye rises from her seat and goes to wrap arms about Jemma’s waist. “You’re turning into a real social worker,” she murmurs fondly, nuzzling against her girlfriend’s neck.

“Her father was going to have her _killed_ ,” Jemma whispers.

“So she and I are going to have lots to talk about,” Skye cracks. “Impulsively filicidal parental figures.”

“I’m Sansa Stark,” Sansa is saying, approaching with a smile. “Jemma found me and brought me here. It’s a sort of miracle.”

“My father and your father got along, I think,” Shireen declares.

“In a way, they did,” Sansa says. “Or they had common goals of a kind.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to him,” Shireen says.

“I’m sorry for what happened to _you_ ,” Sansa replies. “You’ll be all right here. Jemma and Skye and the others will make you very comfortable.”

Shireen looks at Jemma, puzzled. “Why?”

“Because we help people, and you needed help,” Jemma replies. “I’m not sure how the rest of it works yet, but we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

“She’s kind of a genius,” Skye brags. “I’m Skye, by the way.”

“Skye…?” Shireen asks, as if prompting for a family name.

“Uh,” Skye says helpfully. “Johnson, I guess. It’s kinda complicated.”

“And you?” Shireen asks Jemma.

“Simmons,” Jemma replies. “I’m Jemma Simmons.”

“May I be Shireen Simmons, perhaps?” Shireen asks. “I think that sounds much luckier.”

Jemma raises an eyebrow at Skye. “So you could work it out so that she’s my little sister, sent to follow in big sister’s footsteps?” she asks.

“I could totally,” Skye agrees.

“How interested are you in science?” Jemma asks Shireen.

“I’m not sure,” she says. “Is that something a maester does?”

Sansa nods. “Sort of,” she confirms.

“I’ve always thought if I’d been a boy and not a princess, I’d have wanted to be a maester, and get to visit that library and learn all of those strange things,” Shireen declares. “Shireen Simmons could very well learn… science, I’m sure.”

“You’d be welcome no matter,” Jemma promises, “but it’s very much a Simmons trait to be bookish. Do you think Coulson would let us borrow the car?” That last is directed at Skye, of course.

“I think he’d better let us borrow Lola, since she and I are one and the same,” Skye snarks. “Shopping trip? If you have an old sweater that could pass for a dress for her in the meantime, I have a belt that could help. But I don’t think anyone around here has a wardrobe they can share with a kid.”

“May I come, too?” Sansa asks politely. “I’ve never had clothes from a shop.”

“What the hell,” Skye says, grinning at Jemma.

“I’ll leave a note so the others know where we’ve gone,” Jemma agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thwarted spoilers for _Game of Thrones_ 5.10.

“I need to go,” Jemma announces after dinner.

“ _Again_?” Skye groans.  “I mean, I’m really proud of you, honey, I just… I worry.”

“Everyone else gets to go on daring rescue missions,” Jemma retorts airily.  “I think I’ve proved I’m plenty capable of it.”

“You are!” Skye says.  “I… just…”

“Would it make you feel better if I went with her?” Sansa asks softly, not looking up from the knitting she’s been teaching herself to do.  “If that thing takes her, takes us, back to my world, I may be able to say whether or not someone’s worth saving.”  Her voice goes cold at that last.

Skye frowns, but she understands - not everyone is worth saving, as much as she may want them to be.  “You’re not a fighter,” she points out.

“I’ve gotten good at running,” Sansa counters.

“I wouldn’t mind the emotional backup,” Jemma offers.  “If it winds up being somewhere Sansa knows her way around, that might help, too.”

“Just be careful?” Shireen says hopefully.

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

They bundle up this time, Jemma remembering how cold her last two adventures wound up being, but it’s a waste and even a detriment, as they wind up someplace bright and almost unbearably warm.  “Do you know where we are?” Jemma asks softly.

Sansa wrinkles her nose, looking around.  “The South, if it’s Westeros at all,” she says.  “It doesn’t look like King’s Landing, though.”  Her tone makes it clear that that’s a relief to her.

“This architecture looks almost Spanish,” Jemma muses, mostly to herself because Sansa still won’t understand what that means.  They’re standing near a dirt road near a beach, but a city on the horizon has distinguishable enough buildings that she feels comfortable making that assessment.

There’s no one around, so the girls take a seat in the grass.  Sansa starts braiding Jemma’s hair even though that won’t do much to disguise her decidedly un-Westerosi clothing, Jemma keeps an eye out for anyone who may appear needing their help.

Finally a small procession, horses and wagons, approaches and comes to a halt.  A blonde girl, perhaps Sansa’s age, disembarks as if just needing to stretch her legs, and Sansa tugs on Jemma’s sleeve.  “That’s Myrcella,” she whispers.

“You know her?” Jemma asks.

Sansa nods.  “She’s the queen’s daughter,” she murmurs.  Jemma understands the weight of this: the queen who was part of the plot to have Sansa’s family done away with, who rather ruined Sansa’s life.

“Maybe we’re here for someone else,” Jemma says.

“Myrcella isn’t bad,” Sansa muses.  “Myrcella is sweeter than her older brother ever was, cleverer than her younger, but she’s never been more than a pawn, just like me.”

Jemma nods.  “Would you do the honors?” she asks.

Sansa waits for Myrcella to be out of earshot of any of the rest of her party (the only men moving around doing so to relieve themselves behind bushes and in the sea) before lifting her chin and going to her.  “Myrcella, I can’t explain now but you’ve got to come with me,” she announces softly, reaching a hand out.

Myrcella’s brow furrows.  “Sansa?” she asks.  “Sansa Stark?  What are you doing here?  Where did you get those _clothes_?”  More to herself, she adds, “Why do people keep telling me I’ve got to go places with them without explaining?”

Sansa hears it, though, and she laughs.  “I can’t explain because there’s not a good explanation,” she says.  “But I know that if you don’t come with me now, something awful will happen to you.  I don’t know what, but I don’t think you’d want to risk finding out.”

“You’re my family’s enemy,” Myrcella says doubtfully.  “Whatever you’re doing, it’s just a trick, just a cruel attempt to use me like everyone has made.”

Jemma steps forward and raises her hand.  “I’m Jemma Simmons,” she says.  “I’m not from here, but I promise this isn’t a trick.  I promise we want to help you.”

“But Trystane…”

“Trystane isn’t as important as your life,” Sansa whispers.  “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

Skye and Shireen are waiting for them in the “rock room,” playing Operation and (as Skye predicted they’d be able to to) discussing their respective eleventh-hour murderous parents, and when Myrcella steps out of the rock she immediately shouts, “ _Shireen_?”

Shireen tilts her head, smiling.  “Hello, Myrcella,” she says.

“You know her?” Skye asks.

“She’s my cousin,” Shireen explains.

“No, I’m not, not really,” Myrcella murmurs.  “The stories they tell about my mother and Uncle Jaime are true, I know.  He’s not my uncle.  He’s my father.”

“Oh.”  Shireen stands, brushes dust off of her skirt, and says, “Well, I don’t care.  You can be my friend if not my cousin.”

It’s the first thing that’s been said that has actually calmed Myrcella, and she runs forward to hug Shireen as the other three watch.  “I’d like that very much,” she says.

“Well, that’s convenient,” Skye says to Jemma, chuckling.  “Everyone you find seems to at least know of each other.”  Once the hug ends, she steps forward to say, “I’m Skye, by the way.  I’m one of the ones kind of in charge of the weird shit around here.  And Jemma’s my girl.”

Jemma smiles, regarding Myrcella for a moment.  “If you’re not your so-called father’s daughter, whose do you want to be?” she asks.

“We’ve got new identities here,” Shireen giggles.  “Sansa’s the niece of a billionaire whose last name is Stark, too, and I’m Jemma’s little sister.”

“She could be Bobbi’s cousin,” Skye suggests.

“Bobbi?”

“She’s wonderful,” Sansa enthuses.  “We’ll take you to meet her later.”

“Do you like how that sounds?” Jemma asks.  “Myrcella Morse?”

Myrcella thinks it over, then nods.  “I might as well be,” she says.  “Maybe Myrcella Morse will get to be her own person.”

“Count on it,” Skye says warmly.


	4. Chapter 4

“Bobbi?” comes Jemma’s voice from around the corner.  “Are you feeling up to seeing the girls?”

Bobbi winces and adjusts her position in bed before calling back, “If they don’t mind that I’m not up to greeting them at the door.”

After a respectful moment’s pause, Jemma herds Sansa, Shireen, and an unknown blonde into the room.  “Hi, Bobbi,” Sansa exclaims.  “I finished your thank-you scarf.”

“You didn’t have to,” Bobbi says, but she reaches for it with a weak smile.

“Don’t be foolish,” Sansa teases.  “You’ve been very good to us.”

“If I can help, I want to,” Bobbi says.  There’s a bitter undertone to her words, and though the girls don’t know why, Jemma can at least imagine it’s to do with her conflicted feelings about Kara.

“Well, you’re wonderful,” Sansa proclaims, beaming.  “Forgive the clumsiness of the stitches?”

“It’s great,” Bobbi insists, fingering the green and gold yarn. “Pretty colors.”

“You remind me of my - of Margaery,” Sansa explains.  “Green and gold are her family’s colors.”

Shireen and the other girl (closer in age to Sansa, dressed in a new pink sundress) nod.  “I never got to meet Lady Margaery, but she sounded fascinating,” Shireen offers.  “My father disdained her quite a lot.”

“I’m sure my mother did, too,” the blonde says.  “She must have been lovely.”

Jemma and Bobbi exchange amused glances (when the girls are present they’re both the mature ones, and Jemma finds it delightful).

“I think I’m missing something,” Bobbi says meaningfully after a moment, nodding to the new girl.

“Oh!” Jemma exclaims.  “Of course.  Bobbi, this is Myrcella.”

“Cella, casually,” the girl corrects.  “I think.  It sounds less formal and odd.”

“Nice to meet you, Cella,” Bobbi smiles.

“If it’s all right, we were thinking she could be your cousin?” Jemma suggests.

“Myrcella - Cella - Morse,” Shireen chimes in.

“Your family back home kinda suck, too?” Bobbi asks.

“My mother and father are sister and brother,” Cella says bluntly.  “I was betrothed before I had my first moonblood and though he was young and sweet and beautiful, I think his aunt and cousins wanted to murder me because in a roundabout way my mother and grandfather were responsible for their lover/father’s death.”

Bobbi blinks.  “Cella Morse it is,” she says.  To Jemma she says, “Is this going to be a common theme now?  Rescuing girls from a medieval shithole?”

Jemma shrugs.  “I think I’m done for a while,” she says.  “I want to help Sansa and Shireen and Cella get adjusted.”

“Skye faked those high school degrees for us,” Sansa says wryly, “so we had better work on getting high school-level knowledge of things.”

“I skipped some, ah, some grades,” Shireen declares.  “It makes since, being I’m a Simmons.”

Bobbi chuckles.  “That run in your family?” she asks Jemma.

“It does,” she agrees.  “My biological siblings as well, though I’m, ah, the smartest.  On paper.”  It’s the sort of thing she’d brag about sometimes, but not with Bobbi (Bobbi who intimidates her in a general sense and also Bobbi who is technically a genius herself), and as such she’s currently blushing.

“Do your parents know they’ve technically adopted?” Bobbi asks.

Everyone giggles.  “Bit of a strange conversation, but yes,” Jemma confirms.  “They don’t know all of the details, I don’t want to worry them with knowing I’ve taken to interdimensional travel, but they understand that for reasons unknown we’ve come into girls desperately needing new identities.  They’re confused, but they’re happy to help.”

“I was very polite to them,” Shireen says.  “And I think - this -” she motions to her scars, trying to smile - “I think this invited some pity.”

Bobbi frowns sympathetically.  “I’m sorry,” she says, mostly because she knows how loathsome pity can be.

“It’s all right!” Shireen chirps.  “I’m used to it.  And at least here, I can make up stories about what happened, since you don’t have greyscale in this world.  I think it’s going to be a chemical accident, probably.”

“One that gave you superpowers?” Bobbi teases.  “That, however, does happen.”

“I don’t think I have those,” Shireen giggles.  “I’m not a warg.  I’m not a _Targaryen_.”

Sansa and Cella snicker, but Bobbi and Jemma make faces.  “What does that mean?” Bobbi asks, assuming rightly it’s a their-world thing.

“The Targaryens are one of the great houses of Westeros, or they were,” Cella offers.  “They’re meant to be fireproof.  Dragons.”

“And wargs can - they can slip into the consciousness of animals,” Sansa says.  “There were rumors my family were wargs, but I - Robb was said to warg his direwolf, and mine was killed, I never…”

“I’m sorry,” Bobbi says again.

“But that was years ago,” Sansa says brightly.  “And it wouldn’t be exactly the same, of course, but Fitz and I have been talking and we think if we ask together the director might let us get a dog.”  She’s not above pulling the “dimensional traveler” card if that would help, either.

“Because what we need is more chaos around here,” Jemma chuckles.  “Hopefully very lovely, cuddly chaos.”

“And then it could be a help for you, too, if we trained it!” Sansa suggests to Bobbi.

“Is it horribly rude of me to ask what, exactly, happened?” Cella whispers.  “Jemma has said you were attacked, but…”

Bobbi sighs.  “I was attacked by a very bad man for very complicated reasons,” she says.  “I’ll spare you the details of what he did, but I may not be better for a very long time.  And while I can’t pretend that this world is going to be perfect compared to your own, but I think one of the reasons I’m so happy about what Jemma’s doing with you is it gives us a chance to protect you from…”  She shrugs.  “Things like this.”

The girls all smile.  “That’s very noble,” Shireen says.

“Like a proper hero,” Cella agrees.  “You both are.”

“True knights, really,” Sansa concludes.


	5. Chapter 5

“We should start small, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bobbi agrees.  “How much of this do you even know?”

“About the only things I’ve ever done, physically, are ride horses and dance a bit,” Sansa admits.

“My - Trys’ cousins were fighters,” Cella adds with a little sigh.  “Whips and spears and daggers.  Poison.”

Skye raises an eyebrow.  “Shit,” she says, not disapprovingly.  “Well, some of us have toys like that, Bobbi’s got her batons -”

Bobbi smirks again.  “We’ll see,” she says, running hands along the armrest of the wheelchair she’s currently sat in.  “But I’m not the only one.  And you’ve got some tricks too, rockstar.”

“But you can’t exactly teach mine,” Skye smirks.

“Are we ever going to get to see?” Cella asks, sounding curious and slightly impatient.

“Sweetie, you don’t know what you’re asking,” Bobbi cautions gently, because she doesn’t want Skye to feel pressured.

“Someday,” Skye concedes.  “I’ve got my shit handled, mostly.  But it’s not like I can show you down here in the underground gym.

“What we want to do is teach you to defend yourselves,” Bobbi says.  “If you decide you want to be agents -”

“We do!” Sansa and Cella exclaim eagerly.

“We want to make sure you know what you’re doing,” Bobbi continues.  “To make sure that you know what you’re getting into.”

Skye nods.  “And even then, you might not be prepared, but you’ll be better off, at least.”

Sansa shrugs.  “I think that what I’ve learned lately is that I can’t truly be prepared for anything, but I can try to be.”

“Perfect,” Bobbi smiles.  “Honestly, that’s all anyone can do.”

“So let’s get going,” Skye declares.  “Bobbi’s gonna narrate and I’m gonna demonstrate, anda we’re going to start with stretches.”

The girls tilt their heads.

“So a bunch of scientists -”

“Like Jemma?” Cella asks.

“Different disciplines, but sure,” Bobbi says.  “They’ve figured out that it’s smart to sort of wake your body, your muscles up before you work out and practice kicking ass.”

“All right,” Cella says, although she doesn’t really understand yet.  “How?”

Skye and Bobbi glance at each other, smiling, and Skye gets down on the mat.  “Well, I was trained by Melinda May, so I start with yoga,” she says.

 

* * *

 

“Never,” Shireen says.  “We haven’t really got things like that for everyone.  There’s the Citadel, but that’s for men grown, who mean to be maesters.  Most children are taught by their maesters or septas or I suppose their parents, or they’re not taught at all.”  She frowns.  “Sansa and Cella and I were lucky to be highborn.”

“In that way,” Jemma muses softly.

Shireen nods, understanding.  “After Maester Cressen taught me to read, I had full reign of the library,” she says.  “I expect I got into books that I wasn’t supposed to see.”

“Those are often the most interesting,” Jemma declares.  “How much like science did you read?”

“There was a book of healing,” Shireen shrugs.  “Tales that had poisonings in them.  Not much else, really.”

“Then we’re starting from scratch,” Jemma says.  “Very well, wash your hands and come join me at the computer.”

 

* * *

 

“You think they’re going to be all right?” Jemma asks the others softly, watching Cella and Sansa and Shireen eagerly chatter about their afternoons.

“I think we have a lot of work to do, but they’re gonna make it,” Skye says.

“You did the right thing bringing them here, and this is what they chose,” Bobbi says to Jemma.  “I think it’ll work out.”

“I hope so,” Jemma says.  “I want this to be a better life for them.”


End file.
